


Mass Effect: Insurrection

by SonnieMesa



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anarchy, Civil War, Corruption, Fascism, Female Protagonist, Guerrilla Warfare, Multi, Rebellion, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4797047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonnieMesa/pseuds/SonnieMesa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercenary Alicia Hernandez is given the simple task of delivering a crate to the Terminus planet of Cerem. When the mission goes wrong before the delivery is made, Alicia is stranded in a world swarmed by a corrupt leader, and two opposing forces competing against each other to overthrow him. And she's stuck deep in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whiplash

It’s been a whole half-hour since landing in the arid metropolis of Cerem and Alicia Hernandez was already feeling the heat. The air conditioned shuttle wasn’t doing its job of cooling the whole interior, not even the windows which were a few degrees away from becoming burning steel fresh out of the forge. Alicia tried her best to beat the jetlag so as not to lean against the scalding glass for a few winks. As much as she wanted to catch some rest, her awakeness was priority, for no one else in the shuttle except her was to hand over whatever goods she was ordered to deliver by her boss.

Mercenary work lost the glamour that Alicia imagined it would have not too long after she started operating. No matter how much she attempted to lower expectations for her acceptance in the job, the excitement of holding and using a weapon for a price was too conspicuous. It was around the seventh day of traveling in a squad, holding fire and carrying crates that she realized being a merc was no different than any job back on Earth in Havana., and just like any other job, Alicia decided to stick it out until she found one better or bored herself into psychosis.

The main difference between being a merc and more menial jobs is that mercenaries would be paid immensely for small tasks. For example, Alicia was given simple instructions that led to her being on Cerem: “Take this crate, and don’t look inside. Hop on a shuttle bound for Cerem. Deliver it to a certain ‘Sheil’Tyr.’ Come back for your payment.” A payment that equaled to 20,000 credits. Alicia had quite a few “minor purchases” to make including new armor, clothes and a home of her own instead of a shared apartment with her fellow soldiers. She’d be a fool to complain that fetch quests are too good for her, and end up getting set back with dangerous work for pocket chits. Deliver the crate to Cerem, it is.

Upon arrival, Alicia expected to flag down a taxi, and fish out credits the ride to the vantage point within the coordinates. She was surprised and relieved to find that a ride was waiting for her. It had the full treatment, too: a chauffeur with a sign with her name on it. The vehicle was a limousine shuttle that had an elderly human driver, a female co-driver in the passenger seat, and two large men clad in tight T-shirts and cargo pants, obviously security guards.

Alicia had a feeling that the score was huge if she was given a smidgen of comfort and first class before doing something as simple as dropping off a box. The guards were even armed with extra power, not counting the two sidearms between them. An array of ideas went through her mind of what could be in that crate. A doomsday device, a serious contract, and a big red button were among them. She also had the paranoid possibility that it was another sum of credits, and when Alicia drops it off, she would be killed on the spot, having paid for her own assassination. It was an absurd thought but not completely out of the ordinary. Stranger things have happened—and for certain, they will.

“Miss Hernandez,” alerted the driver after lowering the partition, “we are less than thirty minutes from the destination.” The man was a pale-faced sort with a gray short-cropped haircut, gray mustache and a fair amount of wrinkles, but due to miracles of modern medicine, it was hard to pinpoint his exact age. Alicia smiled and nodded back to the driver.

“Thanks,” she responded. “Is this exchange going to be indoors?”

“We’ll know when we’re there,” answered the co-driver. “The GPS is an prototype. It only calculates the distance and direction, not exact location or terrain.”

“Weird for a prototype to overlook that.” The mercenary scratched her head.

The driver shrugged. “Well, things get overlooked. It’s what makes the next model better.”

Alicia returned the shrug, reaching back to tie her curly afro in a bun. If the deal was to be outdoors, it would help to get her hair off of her neck. She loved staying natural as it gave her freedom to manipulate and work her hair into an array of stylish ways, but when it came to the heat, it was a hassle. Absorbing the humidity like a sponge or getting wet would end up frizzing the hair out of its style and make it worse for her condition overall. Letting her hair go free was an option she was proud with, but pride would have to take a back seat to practicality.

Alicia felt the vehicle start to idle, and she gave the security guards a signal before she bent over in her seat to pull the crate out from under, preparing to hand it over.

Her fingertips barely grazed the crate’s handle when the skycar gave a violent, and deafening 45-degree jerk to the right.

The hot glass behind her contorted with the metal on the inside, until a sudden pop and shatter. Another 45 degrees flipped the vehicle and chucked Alicia and the security guards to opposite seats on the ceiling. Heads collided easily with metal—and other heads—as rapid 360s wracked the interior. Beverages lost sense of gravity, spilling on itself in mid-air. Glimpses of the passengers bouncing around the limo like ragdolls in a pachinko machine flashed before Alicia inbetween blinding motion blurs.

Finally touching ground on its top, the limo’s mass effect fields gave its death cry. Alicia could see in only overexposed fuzz. The surface she landed on was hot, soft and gravely. A further pinch of it made it clear it was sand. Alicia turned her head as best she could and focused her eyes upon the wrecked limo, now a heap of scrap on the outside. The scene itself was a sight to behold at the risk of being haunted.

The driver of the limo was a yard away from her, a crumpled mess of bones pointing up to the sky like daggers. Half of his co-driver was lying on the horizon. As for the security guards, the shorter one with olive skin got off easy: lots of bumps and cuts to the head that knocked him cold, and killed him quick. His partner, with the blond spiked hair, was making a perfect obtuse angle with his neck and head.

Alicia heard the purr of a big block mass effect field pull up. On instinct, the mercenary stiffened and feigned death the best she could, caking her eyes with the blood from her head and blankly staring at nothing. Doors of the approaching vehicle whirred open and footsteps carefully trudged across the sands. Out of the corner of her eye, she identified the source of footsteps. A pair of white combat boots and gold leg armor became visible when the figure crawled halfway into the wreckage, rummaging carefully through it.

“Not in the car,” was the most Alicia could make out in her dwindling state. “Must have... lost in the crash.”

“Help… ook for it,” another voice called from the opposite direction. The figure by the amorphous limo stood up and stayed for a second, turning back when the limo’s driver made sounds of life. The old man sputtered and gargled harshly, while the figure squatted fully into Alicia’s view. A male in goldish armor and a ski mask hovered unmoving over the driver. Their eyes locked as the driver struggled to bring his shaky, frail hands in surrender or a plea, his fingers deviating from the metacarpals, which themselves were on the outside.

“N… Nooo... Nooo…” His voice was a pathetic drawl. It sounded as if the desperation he wanted it to carry was sucked clean from him, and he could only drone. He kept the unsettling plea up while the man in armor watched, turning his head to the source of the other voice.

“He’s... out of it. Put him… isery.” The other voice came through just clear enough to know what comes next, and Alicia watched helplessly as the man pulled out his sidearm, pressed the pistol to the driver’s head and pulled the trigger.

The driver went limp as his skull was speared by the bullet and the assailant stood up, pocketing his weapon.

“Found it!” yelled a different voice by the other. “Just lying over here. Now… can take it to boss.”

“What about the mess?” The assailant’s voice drifted as he returned to the other figures and their vehicle.

“Leave it… could use the meal, and… picked clean by tomorr…” The restarting of the mass effect field drowned out the rest of the dialogue, though Alicia wasn’t keen to know more. She heard the doors slam and the vehicle buzzed up and away at an alarming speed.

The mercenary couldn’t keep a straight thought. Her head throbbed and her bones were being pinned as she realized she was free to move again. Unfortunately, she was limited to raising her head and dropping it again. Too tired to move, even more difficult to keep her heavy eyelids raised.

Light footsteps and the beeping of software were the last things heard before Alicia lost consciousness.


	2. Band of Outsiders

Drawing her eyes open, Alicia came to at last. Her first act upon awakening was to hold her forehead, causing her to freeze when her hand came into contact with bandage fabric instead of skin. Looking down, she found she wasn’t in her armor, but the tank top and tight running shorts underneath. The freeze broke when Alicia tried rebuilding her bearings on instinct, and she jolted while looking around at the new setting.

The cool air was her first tipoff of being in a different area, as it had an artificial brisk and hum along with it. It was the fact that she was indoors, in what appeared to be a living room, that confirmed her lesser evil of fears. 

The living room was one swanky chamber. The ceiling was at least fifteen feet above ground, and both looked to be made of the same marble. Anything on the floor that wasn’t marble was covered with a thick-textured carpet that followed the creme-brown color scheme that made up the decor, from the sectional couch she laid on to the books collecting dust under the coffee table. The colors were a perfect match to the dull brown of the desert, an intimidating landscape outside the window that also stretched up to the ceiling.

It all seemed too perfect of a setting to wake up to. Someone happening to be in the desert, discovering the scene of the hellish accident, and saving Alicia before her possible death of exposure was far-fetched. Whatever odd customs the people of Cerem had, it was beyond Alicia’s limited knowledge of the Terminus System to act that out, in the full process at least. To her, it assumed too much of humanity to have that much compassion, Terminus or elsewhere.

A batarian emerging from a doorway with a plate of fried eggs confirmed her thought.

Having a member of one of the most reviled races in the galaxy come towards you carrying a hot meal is an odd sight to behold, so Alicia’s immediate feeling was confusion. When the alien stopped before Alicia, the only thing between them was the coffee table, it turned to apprehension.

“I hope you like eggs,” the batarian grumbled. “It’s one of the only types of your food I know how to make.” Alicia cocked her brow, hesitating for a moment. She rapidly leaned up and put her feet down to the floor, standing up. The batarian lurched and held up his hand.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa now. Don’t get up too fast.” He walked around the table and gently gestured her back down to the couch. “It’s best you not get up much at all. You were in a car accident.”

Alicia remained still, the images of the past accident flashing before her in a gritty filter, self-imposed to lessen the gory results. Even with that filter, she saw enough to wonder how she was the only one that came out alive and with the least physical scars. She obliged with the batarian and laid back down.

The batarian smirked and squatted to Alicia’s level and presented the plate to her. Alicia took it with a returning grin, leaning up against the pillows nestled against the couch’s arm as she began eating. No matter how old she gets or how runny they are, like now, eggs are a good dish.

“You may have had a concussion,” the batarian continued. “Grade 3, since you were unconscious for a few minutes.” Alicia turned to him, puzzled.

“A few minutes?” she asked.

“Well, you were slipping in and out. You came to around last night, but…”

“Last night?” The confused human could only furrow her brow as the batarian blinked both sets of eyes.

“Yep,” he sighed, “definitely grade 3.” He stood up and turned to leave the room. “You finish those eggs. I’ll be back with my toys.” Alicia followed his word and at the egg in just a scale of two minutes. She was careful not to go into her instinct of eating too fast as if it would have a worse effect on her condition, but the taste of good breakfast couldn’t hold it back.

The batarian returned with a briefcase, squatting back down and opening it.

“You can sit up now, miss.” He spoke while focusing on shuffling around the items in his case, medical equipment from the quick glimpses Alicia caught while getting in position. He brought his attention back to her. “My name’s Posk. What’s your name?”

“Alicia. Alicia Hernandez.”

“Got a birthdate, Alicia?”

“May 19th. I turned twenty-one this year.”

“Do you know the name of your home planet’s capital?”

“Earth doesn’t really have a capital, but I was born in Havana, Cuba.”

Posk asked several more questions about what planet she was on and what month it was last, to which Alicia answered accurately without haste or delay. The batarian nodded as he pulled a miniature flashlight from his case. 

“Memory seems to be sharp enough. Now I’m gonna just check your pupils for size difference. If you could just look forward into the light…” Posk switched on the flashlight, shining it into each eye for a few seconds and switching often.

“Normal, so no serious damage,” he said, pocketing the light. He began running his fingers up and down the sides of her head, from the mandible to the forehead. “Tell me if it feels the same on both sides.”

The testing went on for another twenty minutes and Posk worked from her head down, checking reflexes, nerves, and strength on each side. Posk took a moment to reset the items in his case, closing it and taking it back to the room.

“So everything checks out to be normal,” he said upon return. “You have a bit of tenderness on the side of the head, so be careful with that. Everything else seems in shape, reflexes are normal, memory and perception are in shape.”

“That’s all good,” Alicia droned, “but I have a job to do. The accident delayed it enough and sitting around here could make it worse.”

“Lemme guess: you need to deliver a crate to Sheil’Tyr?”

Alicia blinked. “Yeah. How’d you know that?”

“As it so happens, she’s my boss.” The batarian sat on the edge of the couch. “I was in a post ways away from the drop zone when I saw the missile hit the limo. She told me to check for survivors, which I thought would be impossible, but here you are. No clue where the crate went.”

“It was stolen,” Alicia chimed in. “Before I blacked out, some guys were talking about taking something. It must’ve been the crate. No idea who.”

Posk hummed and stood from the couch. “I have a theory, but only the boss could know for sure.”

“What’s she the boss of anyway?”

“The Classic Order, an army that talks about making Cerem better.” Posk cleared his throat. “How about this? I’ll take you to her on account of this crate business. If it pans out well, she might give you some other task so you don’t go back to your merc band empty-handed. Sound good?”

Alicia followed the batarian’s motion, slower than him in consideration of her injury.

“Sounds good,” she responded. Posk went back into another room, returning with Alicia’s armor under his arm and another set, possibly his own, laying the pieces out on the coffee table.

“Then suit up and let’s roll. We’ll be heading out at high noon.”

 

 

* * *

 

Noon came and Posk set out, driving Alicia to the HQ of the Classic Order. The sun was just beginning its job of beating down on the sand. It was a scorcher as the temperature meter read 81 °. The air conditioning in the skycar was refreshing enough to combat the heat trying to bleed through the glass. 

Arrival at the location was quite abrupt. Where Alicia swore they were just passing endless vistas of cacti and rocks, they were suddenly in front of a chain-link fence with a rolling gate. At the gate stood several armed men draped in solid black, guards of course. Posk inched the ride closer to the gate, pulling up aside a human guard on the driver’s side. He raised the vertical door, giving the human a greeting cock of the head. The human was a male, searing red dyed hair. Sunrays above him gave the image of a flame, contrasted by his darker skin and solid-dark brows.

The human offered his hand. “We check our sights…”

Posk took his hand, wrapping it in a tight handshake as both men saluted. “And make the sounds. What’s good, Edgar?”

“Same old, same old. Nice of you to join us in the base again.” Edgar leaned down to get a better look at Alicia. “Who’s your friend?”

“She’s the courier Sheil asked for.” Edgar rose again, his face growing serious and blank again.

“I won’t hold you longer.” He waved them toward the gate. “Go right to her.” Posk nodded and gestured for Alicia to join him. 

The pair passed through the rolling gates into the base, bustling at this early hour. It closely resembled a quarry with the divots in ground to her left that held vehicles, but it also had a desert civilization outfit to it, the throngs of black and white armor-clad people, merging and spreading like locals in a marketplace. This army clearly didn’t discriminate as there were people of every race on the base, although a fair majority were humans or batarians.

Going down the quarry slope, Alicia followed Posk to a large black tent. On the rook was a significant symbol: a bold, white “X” with a line struck through it. Something about it spelled a combination of extremity and order. As they went inside, she saw the symbol again on a few smaller banners hung up to either tent’s side, and a pile of posters. The seal was an original one, and the mass producing of it helped make it known, as shown by the hundreds of uniformed soldiers. 

In the middle of the tent, surrounded by a square of tables was a quarian woman, clad in a black and white suit, with a grey poncho that unsurprisingly had the same X symbol. If there was a louder way to say she was the boss, she could be yelling it from a mountain top. She lifted her head from a conversation with a female turian to face the interrupters. 

“Posk? You’re back at the base?” Faux shock seeped through her speech. “Let me check to see if flying pigs are screaming.”

“The expression’s ‘if pigs are flying,” Alicia spoke.

The quarian stood and leaned forward over the table to look at the human. “So this is the courier?”

“The cockroach herself,” answered Posk. “Alicia, this is our fearless leader, Sheil’Tyr.”

“If you don't mind, Sheil’Tyr is just my code name. Real name is Jeele’Yor, soldier. Sorry you went through the mess you did yesterday. If you just explain what happened, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Tell her what you told me.” Posk gave her a gentle nudge forward, and on instinct Alicia got face to face with Jeele. Jeele went back in her seat, breaking the close contact.

“Well, it happened so fast,” she swallowed. “I think the driver said we were just halfway there and then  boom!  Posk said a missile hit it and flipped the limo over. I got tossed out and before going dark, I saw some other soldiers, I think. They took out the driver, took the crate and went away.”

Jeele had her chin on her hand, pondering the story over. “These soldiers, were they wearing white and gold armor with cloth masks?”

“I only saw their bodies, but yeah, that’s the armor.”

“Bosh’tet!” Jeele pounded the desk with her fist. She bounded up, calling out to those in vicinity of the tent. “Damn Titone and his guard! Who the hell let it leak to him? We were supposed to pass it through paper, not the extranet! Now we have a delay on top of several mountains of delays.” 

The guards outside the tent began barking orders to the others in the base. What was made out of them were calls to check every computer and datapad. The scurrying got more frantic as people went to erase data from the devices. Jeele sighed and slid over the tables, whispering to the turian. The turian nodded and picked up an Avenger machine gun. Jeele took a breath.

“Alicia, right?”she asked. “How good are you with espionage and a gun?”

The human smirked. “Good enough to be a merc.” The turian tossed the gun to her, which she caught in time.

“Great, because you and Posk are going to get that crate back.” 

Posk was taken aback. “What? How?”

“There’s an armory where Titone’s guard keeps all the items they’ve ‘confiscated.’ Edgar can pass you the coordinates. You just have to get in, get the crate and get out. Be sure to fill the courier in on the stakes.”

The batarian huffed, blind grabbing an Avenger for himself. “You got it, boss lady. Come on, Alicia.”

“Before you go, courier,” Jeele said, “I’m going to add to whatever your superiors are paying you for your delivery—only in advance.” She pulled up her omni-tool, transferring a total of 2000 credits to Alicia’s account. “Doesn’t feel right for you to get a busted head and not have a ‘get well soon’ from the client.”

Alicia smiled. “Wow. You seem generous already.” 

The quarian nudged both of them out the tent to get their merry way started.“I’m risking a lot putting you two on this.  _ Please  _ don’t screw up.”

“Boss, please,” Posk practically sang, “that’s the last thing you’ll expect me to do.”


End file.
